


Torture Me With All I Wanted

by stardropdream



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Multi, Replacement sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 21:50:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1957368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“No, no, he’d be all stuffy about it,” Gwaine protests. “What are you doing getting pleasure from my touch when <i>you</i> should be pleasing <i>me</i>?” </p><p>“You know he would not demand such a thing,” Lancelot says gently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Torture Me With All I Wanted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jlarinda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jlarinda/gifts).



> This fic is a long time coming, as it was requested of me aaaages ago. But, what it says all above. Replacement sex in which Gwaine and Lancelot both act like different sides of Arthur's personality - arrogant/bratty versus kind/noble. 
> 
> Brief note: I've marked it Merlin/Arthur just because, it being replacement sex, there's a lot of underlying merthur going on there - but, it should be noted that Arthur never actually makes a physical appearance in the fic itself.

“Then he threw another pitcher at me,” Merlin finishes his story with a very aggressive roll of his eyes, huffing out a little. Despite his hardships, he doesn’t seem as distressed as he perhaps has a right to be – far too used to Arthur and his antics after years of service. 

“And there’s nothing I love more than hearing about Prince Arthur when we’re like this,” Gwaine says, perhaps somewhat dramatically, from where he sits behind Merlin, unknotting his scarf for him so he can kiss at the nape of his neck, smiling to show he isn’t actually all that bothered – so long as they don’t get side-tracked from what they _are_ doing. 

Lancelot seems a little more sympathetic, nodding in understanding at the appropriate moments of Merlin’s story, hand resting affectionately, but intimate, against Merlin’s hip. He squeezes his hip gently once Merlin concludes his story, smiling at him – in both sympathy and fondness. 

“Well now you can forget about him for a little while,” Gwaine says, somewhat hopefully, knowing he’ll take it upon himself to make sure Merlin can’t so much as think once he and Lancelot are done with him. 

Merlin tips his head back to smile at Gwaine, sloppy and a little eager, and Gwaine leans in and kisses him, cupping his chin to keep him close and kissing him slow and gentle, just the way that Merlin likes it. Merlin makes a quiet, pleased sound into the kiss, just the way Gwaine likes it. 

When they draw back, Lancelot is working at the ties of Merlin’s tunic, slowly pulling him out of his coat in a way that doesn’t jostle him too much or pull him away from Gwaine’s rather insistent mouth. Gwaine peppers kisses along Merlin’s jaw and bites at his ear as he works his way down over his neck, nuzzling and letting his stubble drag across his skin – again, just the way he knows Merlin likes. 

“I just do so much for him,” Merlin says, suddenly, derailing whatever Gwaine was about to get up to. He exchanges a somewhat frustrated look with Lancelot, who looks at him merely in sympathy. Merlin sighs, clearly as frustrated as Gwaine feels as Lancelot peels off his coat and pulls his tunic up over his head. Merlin raises his arms obediently, and shoots Lancelot a small smile in thanks even as he sighs out, “I do so much for him – and he doesn’t even realize how much. And do you think he ever thanks me?” 

“Our dear friend Merlin is feeling neglected, Lancelot,” Gwaine says, shifting so that his legs bracket Merlin’s hips and he presses his chest to Merlin’s back, moving his arms to curl around him gently, sliding one hand over his stomach and chest, touching him gently, trying to soothe him back into the proper mood. 

“So it would seem,” Lancelot says with a warm smile as he looks at Merlin. 

“Sorry,” Merlin says a second later, grinning in his embarrassment. “Guess talking about Arthur isn’t really what either of you want to hear.” 

“No kidding,” Gwaine says, good-naturedly, at the same time that Lancelot says, “It’s alright.” 

Lancelot gives Gwaine a look, lifting his eyebrows. Gwaine parrots the look, somewhat mockingly, and flips his hair with a huff. “Well, His Highness’s not here. We’re not having sex with him. Or anyone, at this rate.” 

Merlin shoots him a look, his smile both coy and unapologetic when he rolls his eyes. And then he laughs, tipping his head back. 

“Can you imagine him even trying between the two of you? It’d be ridiculous,” Merlin says, and looks amused – but neither Lancelot nor Gwaine miss the underlying affection in his tone. They both exchange another look. It seems that the feelings between Merlin and Arthur are obvious to all but those involved, most days. He laughs again, quieter this time, “He wouldn’t know what to do with himself.” 

Gwaine sighs, only somewhat dramatically. “Imagine him trying to get at you, Merlin, much less all three of us.” 

Merlin snorts, somewhat derisively. Gwaine snorts, too, although for entirely different reasons.

“You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it,” Gwaine crows, “You undress and bathe the man.”

“And that’s precisely why I haven’t thought about it,” Merlin snorts out, although he’s blushing in a way that Gwaine finds incredibly appealing and would happily lean in and go back to kissing Merlin if the damn fool didn’t start talking all over again, “There’s nothing sexual about taking care of him in the morning at night – he’s entirely like a child when it comes to undressing. Or waking him up. Or anything, for that matter.” 

Lancelot, who’d been quiet up until that point, smiles and shrugs. “He’s lucky to have you, Merlin. I’ve always said as much.” 

“And he’d be extremely lucky if you’d _have him_. If you know what I mean,” Gwaine says and waggles his eyebrows for added effect. He means it, though – it’d probably help Arthur relax, ultimately, so tied up in the problems of the kingdom to realize just how high-strung he’s become, with the issues of his father, Morgana still out there, and the general keeping and maintaining of the kingdom after the battle it took to gain it back. 

“Alright, alright,” Merlin laughs out, holding up his hands in surrender. Gwaine takes the opportunity to seize one of those hands and start kissing over his knuckles and fingertips. Merlin laughs again, softer this time, a little more breathless. “You’ve made your point.” 

Merlin squirms a little, though, when Gwaine sucks one finger into his mouth, and Gwaine glances down over him and sees the evidence of his arousal – there long before Gwaine started paying attention to him. He sighs around his finger, drawing it back and kissing his palm. Merlin’s feelings – obvious to all but Merlin, it seems. 

Lancelot seems to have noticed the same, and he smiles gently at Merlin once again and leans in, kissing him. When he draws back, he’s still smiling, lifting a hand to cup Merlin’s cheek. 

“He’d be very lucky to have you,” he repeats with a small nod, which only makes Merlin grin at him, somewhat loopy, and blush. 

“No, no, he’d be all stuffy about it,” Gwaine protests, sliding his hands over Merlin’s chest until he tilts back against him, arching. “Idiot,” he hisses out in a startlingly accurate reenactment of Arthur’s tone and exasperation, “what are you doing getting pleasure from my touch when _you_ should be pleasing _me_?” 

Lancelot makes a soft sound of protest, turning his attention towards him. He says, in a tone that’s both scolding and amused, “Gwaine.” 

“That’s _Your Highness_ to you, Sir Lancelot,” Gwaine says primly. 

Lancelot shoots Merlin an amused look and leans in, kissing him again when Merlin gives him a rather spectacular pleading look. He cups his face gently and kisses him, slow and precise and focused entirely on Merlin, as is Lancelot’s way. 

“You know he would not demand such a thing,” Lancelot says gently once he pulls back, reprimand in his words sounding more like a compliment then a chastising. “Arthur is a good man. He would take care of Merlin first before he even thought of his own pleasure.” 

Gwaine wrinkles his nose and laughs. “No way. We all know these noble types, Lancelot. He’d take his pleasure first and think of Merlin second – if at all. Or he’d do something that pleases Merlin merely because it pleases himself.” 

“You’re being ungenerous,” Lancelot says, and Gwaine knows he is – but he can’t help but tease when Arthur is involved. Lancelot presses closer, sliding his hands gently over Merlin’s chest and cupping Merlin’s face, smiling at him. “He’d say something like this,” he clears his throat, and his cheeks blush a little when he realizes he’s willingly going to mimic Arthur. He sighs out, sliding his thumbs along Merlin’s cheeks, and says, deep and quiet, “Allow me to do this for you. Think not of me.” 

Merlin laughs, breathless, and some of the tension seems to ease out of his shoulders. Gwaine watches as Lancelot kisses every inch of Merlin he can reach, kissing hi thoroughly and then ducking to kiss down his neck and over his chest, his hands gliding to trace along his ribs and over his stomach, cupping his hips to press him back against Gwaine, who holds him securely as Lancelot kisses and kisses across Merlin’s skin. Gwaine leans in, over Merlin’s shoulder, watching Lancelot kiss over him before doing the same, kissing Merlin’s shoulder and neck, letting his stubble drag again and making sure to bite and nip over his skin – demanding and arrogant, just the way he imagines Arthur would act, if he were to stop being a fool and actually take Merlin to his bed. 

“You should be focusing on me,” he says, voice haughty and pitched slightly higher to catch on Arthur’s typical whine. Lancelot shoots him a look from where he’s nuzzling and kissing Merlin’s stomach, one hand sliding down over his thigh and between his legs, cupping him through his breeches, smiling slightly when Merlin cries out. Gwaine grins against his jawline, where he bites and kisses. 

Lancelot lifts his hands to tug on Merlin’s breeches, drawing them down off his hips along with his smallclothes, discarding the last of Merlin’s clothing until he’s stretched out naked, leaning back against Gwaine with Lancelot kneeling between his legs, hands sliding over his thighs until they spread a little more to accommodate Lancelot’s presence. Merlin sighs out, arching, rocking his hips just slightly, and it’s impossible for Gwaine to resist him, pulled to Merlin like gravity, a pull impossible to ignore – and he kisses him, gently. 

When he pulls back, he grins, “I’ll make you forget your own name, idiot. When I’m done with you, all you’ll know is to serve me – I’ll make you come just from my cock.” 

Merlin, instead of moaning out as he usually does whenever Gwaine says such things, merely laughs out, blushing and shaking his head. “Arthur would _never_ say that. He’s far too shy.”

“Hm,” Gwaine hums out, tucking that little information in for a later date – he always knew that Arthur was a prim little princess. “No time like the present to start – especially when I’m right.” 

Lancelot apparently has a point to prove, or is far too noble to let Gwaine tease Arthur when Arthur isn’t there to defend himself, because he brushes his hands gently over Merlin and leans up again, pressing their foreheads together, smiling at him. The two of them exchange a quiet look of understanding – one that Gwaine’s grown used to seeing, considering how close the two of them are. 

“Whatever you want, tell me,” Lancelot says, but while it’s easily something Lancelot himself would say, the way he says it calls to mind the way Arthur always speaks when his nobility kicks in – quiet and somewhat guarded, even when open and raw. He murmurs the words against Merlin’s mouth, his voice raw and shattered as he looks at Merlin. “You do so much for me, Merlin, let me do this one thing for you, this time.” 

Merlin breathes out, smiling somewhat shakily. “Lancelot—”

“Arthur,” Lancelot corrects, pulling back to lift his eyebrows. He darts a quick, embarrassed look at Gwaine before returning his gaze to Merlin. “I want to be with you, Merlin – so let me.” 

Merlin groans quietly, the blush high on his cheeks, before he presses forward and kisses him again, openmouthed and desperate. Gwaine watches them for a long moment before pulling back to grope around Merlin’s little side-table where he knows he keeps a bottle of oil. Sex in Merlin’s bed is not always the easiest of places to sleep – Gwaine much prefers his own bedroom, and sometimes maybe Lancelot – but it gets the job done, even if it’s a bit of a tight fit for all three of them, a little cramped and not leaving for too much cuddling afterwards (something Gwaine never fully admits to liking, although certainly doesn’t snub it when it gets to that). 

For just a moment, though, he isn’t touching either of them and Merlin jerks against Lancelot, crying out against his lips and reaching blindly for where Gwaine has disappeared to. Gwaine reaches out and catches one of Merlin’s hands, sliding back closer and kissing his wrist. 

“Really, _Mer_ lin,” Gwaine says, figuring that since they’ve gotten into this mess he might as well embrace the fourth guest in their little get-together, even if he isn’t exactly here. “Can’t stand to be without me for a minute, can you? Hopeless.” 

Merlin huffs out, but squeezes his hand hard and then falls back onto his sheets, covering his eyes with one hand for a moment. Lancelot leans in to follow him, stroking his face, making small, pleasant sounds as he smiles down at him. Gwaine watches them both for a moment, until Merlin starts to laugh a little, blushing, but looking pleased. 

“You two are ridiculous,” he says, somewhat fondly. “But you must think I’m utterly—”

“I already knew you were an idiot from the start, _Mer_ lin,” Gwaine says, pursing his lips together in a way he’s seen Arthur do countless times during training, when he’s frustrated with whatever Merlin’s done wrong. 

“You’re alright,” Lancelot says, somewhat gruff and quiet, almost a command and a question at the same time. 

Merlin sighs out, closing his eyes and shivering at the words. He arches slightly, biting his lip. 

He opens his eyes after a moment, looking up at Lancelot. “Kiss me?” 

Lancelot does, leaning in to slant his mouth across Merlin’s, a gentle kiss meant to pull the heat that curls and twists inside of Merlin and draw it to the surface, to make him whine and keen for the both of them. Gwaine watches as the kiss slowly deepens, and Merlin makes a soft, pleased sound – something choked off and hesitant, something that almost sounds like Arthur’s name. 

Gwaine waits until Merlin lifts his hands to curl tight into the tunic Lancelot wears before he reaches down, his hand skimming the flat, twitching surface of Merlin’s belly, watching the way Merlin makes a soft, pleased sound and arches up beneath Lancelot, his hips rocking just slightly in the vain hope that one of them would curl their fingers around his cock. His knuckles are white from where his hands fist tight into Lancelot’s tunic. 

Merlin breaks the kiss after a moment to make a soft, whining sound and Gwaine huffs out a loud, arrogant laugh just because he can’t let Lancelot have all the Arthur-impersonation fun, “Really Merlin – do I make you crazy just from a touch like this?” 

He slides his hand over his stomach and down low, but just avoids touching his cock. Merlin huffs out, blushing and making a very pretty picture – jaw slackened just slightly, the way his face goes blank first with pleasure and then colors with his amusement at Gwaine’s – Arthur’s – words. He is hot to the touch and he rocks his hips up a little more, turning his head slightly to give Gwaine a heated look. Gwaine grins at him, somewhat smugly, but obeys the silent command, curling his hand around him and stroking, letting Merlin buck into his hand. He’s hard and dripping wet, and his hips do twitching, tiny stuttering jerks as Gwaine strokes him off. Merlin makes a pleased whining sound and closes his eyes, just thrusting his hips up so his cock slides into Gwaine’s hand. 

“… I can still remember my name,” Merlin says, lips quirking into a devilish little smirk. “I’m unimpressed so far, _Sire._ ” 

Gwaine laughs and looks at Lancelot, who seems amused and arches an eyebrow at Gwaine, who shrugs and strokes Merlin off faster. He nods towards Merlin, the two of them communicating silently, and Lancelot smiles and reaches for Merlin. 

“Well,” Gwaine says, as scoffing and arrogant as he can manage, huffing out for good measure. “Allow me to prove you wrong, you damn idiot.” 

Merlin makes a sound that might be a giggle that quickly desolves to sounding as if he’s been punched when Lancelot flips him over easily, rolling him down on top of Gwaine. He gasps in another breath just as quickly, curling his arms and legs around Gwaine and holding to him, biting his lip to hold back a happy laugh. 

“Don’t look so pleased, _Mer_ lin,” Gwaine scoffs and then moves into kiss him hard, devouring his mouth. Merlin sprawls against him, hips shuttering down against Gwaine as he leans back, taking Merlin with him, and it’s with this said thrusting that Gwaine finally realizes just how hard he is. He bucks up to meet Merlin, moaning as he kisses him, and Merlin moans his encouragement. 

Although he breaks the kiss a moment later to grin at Gwaine. “You were saying, Sire?” 

Gwaine makes a show of rolling his eyes and drops his hands down to work at untying his breeches as Merlin tugs his tunic off for him. Over Merlin’s shoulder, Gwaine can see Lancelot smiling at them both fondly as he rids himself of his own clothes. Gwaine is distracted a moment later when he kicks off his clothes and feels Merlin’s cock brush against his own. He fumbles around for the bottle of oil and holds it out to Lancelot, who takes it with an amused look as Gwaine begins to rut shamelessly against Merlin, who clings to his shoulders grinning at him and bouncing in his lap like he takes a personal pleasure in being _smug_ – but then, Gwaine can easily imagine him doing the same for Arthur, and that was the entire purpose of the exercise. 

Smug though he may be, he makes a hitched, dizzy sound of consent when Lancelot draws him back onto his hands and knees. He grins sheepishly at Gwaine, who watches him as if he’s gone and hung the stars, too distracted and dizzy with his own pleasure to remember much about teasing and being arrogant and ridiculous as their prince tends to be. 

Merlin gasps and throws his head back when Lancelot strokes oil-slicked fingers over his cock and down, moving over the cleft of his arse and stroking over him. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Merlin whines out, squirming and wiggling his hips a little, trying to draw Lancelot closer, trying to get him to press a finger into him. Gwaine, for his part, is completely gone – just watching the way Lancelot, perfectly controlled and gentle, teases into Merlin, and Merlin, who keeps making the soft, gasping sounds of pleasure. Gwaine can only watch, stroking himself as he watches the way pleasure ripples through Merlin, starting at his face and working down until his entire body shudders with it. Lancelot knows how to find the place that makes Merlin gasp and cry out and he was always magnificent at what he did when it comes to this, and Merlin looks marvelous whenever he hits this point – hair disarrayed and plastered to his forehead and his skin flushed with his pleasure, the delightful way he shudders and squirms, unrestrained and drunk with pleasure. 

“You’re perfect,” Lancelot says, and his voice is low and scratchy and nothing like his usual lilt. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes,” Merlin gasps out in a whine. 

“Tell me to stop and I will,” Lancelot says, expression serious, as if he hasn’t done this a million times – but Gwaine knows, without a doubt, the noble kind of hesitancy Arthur would approach Merlin – taking care of him as if he is fragile, yet knowing he is strong enough to take it – but always, always watching his face carefully, waiting to find those moments of hesitation or displeasure. 

Lancelot strokes two fingers into Merlin and Merlin arches up, arms shaking with the weight of him. 

“And now you should say it back,” Gwaine says, having recovered, voice haughty and somewhat whiny. “Say I’m perfect, _Mer_ lin.” 

Merlin laughs out around a moan, broken and _keening_ , arching his body like a bow. His eyelids flutter, his jaw working soundlessly, and he manages to work out between his moans, his voice wrecked and drunk with his pleasure, “Stop bragging, _Sire_ , and fuck me.” 

Gwaine, admittedly, almost came right there and then, from the fire burning bright in Merlin’s eyes when he opens his eyes and grins at Gwaine. Lancelot, however, bends forward and curls his body around Merlin’s, kissing his shoulder unbearably gentle. 

“Giving orders, Merlin?” Lancelot breathes out against his shoulder and kisses the back of his neck, twisting his wrist a little so that Merlin cries out quietly. “Well,” Lance breathes out a chuckle, something very reminiscent to Arthur’s own laughter, his voice wrecked and gravelly, “who am I to deny you?” 

And then Lancelot draws back enough so that he can slide into Merlin – his pace also unbearably gentle and calm, holding Merlin upright as he presses into him, letting Merlin cry out and shudder and rock his hips back, to try to draw Lancelot in deeper, shuddering and going pliant, draping himself down against Gwaine. Gwaine looks up over Merlin’s shoulder as he’s driven back and forth against him with Lancelot’s slow, but deep pace, and sees Lancelot braced above the both of them. Gwaine rocks his hips up to counterbalance Lancelot’s movements, letting his cock slide against Merlin’s, and Merlin lets out a sob of pleasure, shuddering and clinging to Gwaine. 

“You gonna come before you let me, idiot?” Gwaine asks, breathless but still trying for haughty. 

Merlin laughs around his moans, shaking his head, “Arthur would never say ‘gonna’.” 

“Are you going to come before I do, idiot?” Gwaine repeats with a roll of his eyes, rocking his hips up harder against Merlin, who’s warm and pliant above him, pinned down by Lancelot’s hands at his hips, rocking a little harder into him now that he’s close to coming, as well. 

“Just do as you like,” Lancelot murmurs against Merlin’s shoulder blades, a direct counterpoint to Gwaine’s words, his voice heavy and still thick with whatever is quintessentially _Arthur._ “I want you to feel good, too.” 

Merlin sobs out his pleasure, reaching back wildly for Lancelot. Lancelot catches his hand and tangles their fingers together, shifting up a little to kiss his shoulder and the curve of his neck, nuzzling into his hair and kissing the back of his ear. 

Lancelot meets Gwaine’s eyes, and he nods. He reaches up his hands to cup Merlin’s face and presses a small kiss to his lips, neither demanding nor proud, perhaps a touch hesitant and reverent. 

“Come for me,” Gwaine whispers against his lips. 

“Go on, come for me,” Lancelot murmurs into his ear. “ _Mer_ lin.” 

Lancelot rocks his hips one more time and Merlin’s entire body tenses up. His mouth opens and he moans out Arthur’s name, holding tight to Lancelot’s hand, his other hand gripping Gwaine’s shoulder hard enough that his nails dig in sharp into Gwaine’s skin. He rocks his hips up desperately and then Gwaine feels him coming between them, the hot slick of his come roping out between them. He shudders and snaps his hips back desperately and both Lancelot and Gwaine hold him in place, let him ride out his pleasure. 

Merlin writhing against him is enough to send Gwaine over the edge soon after, and he holds tight to Merlin and bucks up against him, thrusting hard against him and coming with a shudder, mouth half-open in a gasp, opening his eyes long enough to see the way Lancelot is curled along the length of Merlin’s back, shuddering with an effort not to come right away, to ride it out a little longer, and Gwaine’s stomach twists with the desire to be inside of Merlin, feeling him come like this. Eventually, though, Merlin slumps down against him with a happy sigh and Lancelot tenses above him, coming with a low heave of his chest and a gasp of breath. 

Gwaine pets his fingers through Merlin’s hair if only for something to do, shuddering still from his own pleasure and rocking his hips up to meet Merlin’s, who gives only the smallest murmur of pleasure in reply. 

Gwaine waits until Lancelot slumps a little, sighing out and kissing Merlin’s shoulder, before he nudges Merlin gently and waits for Merlin’s answering murmur to ask, arrogant and loud, “So, remember your name?” 

Merlin scoffs lightly, blushing. He gets a hand underneath himself and manages to push himself half-upright to give Gwaine a glare meant for Arthur, hair in his face and his cheeks flushed, lips quirked upwards but kiss-swollen. 

Lancelot hums out quietly and pushes himself up, pulling from Merlin – although freezing when Merlin gives a small hiss. Lancelot runs his hands over Merlin’s sides and over his spine, soothing and gentle as he pulls out as slowly as he can, dropping his head to kiss over Merlin’s shoulders and the back of his neck, murmuring quietly to him in a voice that didn’t quite match Lancelot himself – and Gwaine realizes he’s still mimicking Arthur, his words murmurs of praise and love, things that Gwaine can imagine easily Arthur would say if he had the brains to know his own feelings. Once he’d finished pulling from Merlin, Lancelot retreats to the small basin of water Merlin uses to clean himself and carries it back to the other two with a small cloth. 

He gets to work cleaning first Merlin and then Gwaine. Gwaine scoffs, “A prince shouldn’t be the one made to clean up afterwards.” 

“The prince should get off his lazy arse and do some work occasionally, considering all the things I do for him,” Merlin mutters into Gwaine’s chest, where he’s curled up on the small, pathetic little bed. Gwaine chuckles, limbs still refusing to respond beyond just carding gently through Merlin’s hair. 

“I’ll throw you in the stocks for that,” Gwaine exclaims, smugly. 

“No you won’t,” Merlin murmurs to his chest. “You like me too much.” 

Gwaine grunts, and exchanges another glance with Lancelot, who merely shrugs and settles down beside the two of them – it’s a bit of a squeeze, what with two rather large knights trying to wedge their way onto this tiny bed – and strokes his hand over Merlin’s flanks, soothing. 

“And I thought I was the one who was going to have _you_ , Sire,” Merlin mumbles, sounding sleepy and blissed out. He’s boneless against Gwaine, which suits Gwaine just fine (because aforementioned cuddles) and he can feel the curl of Merlin’s little grin against his chest. 

Although a moment later, Merlin blinks his eyes open at both Gwaine and Lancelot’s chuckles and frowns thoughtfully at the two of them. 

“… Was that all really too strange?” Merlin asks at last. 

“You’re strange,” Gwaine says in Arthur’s petulant little squawk he gets whenever he’s embarrassed. 

Lancelot smiles, good-naturedly. “Perhaps a little,” he says, honestly, and then smiles at Merlin, “But being a little strange has never stopped you before.”

Merlin eyes Lancelot, clearly trying to determine if he’s being teased. He sighs out, flopping against Gwaine. 

“Well, what Arthur doesn’t know…” Merlin mumbles, blushing. 

Gwaine laughs, heartily, his entire body shaking from it. “Oh, but imagine his face if he _did_ know!” 

“Gwaine,” Lancelot says in warning, although he’s smiling again. 

He just grins and shrugs. “His head would _explode_ from embarrassment.” 

“Or from an inflated ego,” Merlin mumbles, grinning up at Gwaine, who wrinkles his nose in acknowledgement. 

Lancelot sighs, squeezing Merlin’s thigh gently and patting his hip. Lancelot’s too perfect for his own good, Gwaine thinks, but not even he can find a way to defend Arthur from that assessment. Which is just as well.


End file.
